AKA A New Normal
by Luna II
Summary: What if Jessica had stayed with Kilgrave? Would it have worked out for them? Just a bit of drabble.


"Why did you have to kill Ruben?" She says it so quietly, without any emotion that at first he doesn't know if he should answer. It isn't until she turns to look at him and he sees the emotion in her green eyes that he stops to really think about the man-boy he made slit his own throat.  
"He said he loved you." His voice cracks on the word loved and he clears his throat. "He brought you banana bread because he was in love with you." He scoffs and looks away from her. He can't stand to see the emotion he sees there. Jealousy gets the better of him. "I bought you a house!" He gestures around the room, at the couch he hunted down, at the house that he has recreated just for her. "I did all of this for you because I love you."  
"I know." She says and he can hear the exhaustion in her voice. They had just come back from another night of heroics, one where she'd gotten beaten bloody while he'd been distracted trying to get the innocents out of harm's way.  
For the first time in almost a year he's afraid; more afraid than he had been that day she'd left him to die. Sure things had started off roughly when she'd first came to live in her childhood home that he'd made sure was exactly right, down to every last detail. They'd argued, she'd test his safeguards every chance she got. She'd destroyed a perfectly good dress he'd selected for her in purple; his favorite color, she was the only one he'd ever allow to wear _his_ color but did she realize that? No, of course she didn't.  
Then by some miracle they'd found a rhythm. At first it had started with that worthless wretch, Chuck who had held his family hostage for a reason he didn't care about. Then, the suicidal wife who wanted to kill her husband for cheating on her; this if you asked him was perfectly justifiable. But no, the correct response was to talk her down, _order_ her down so she wouldn't chop the man's balls off. After that it all became a blur of tense days and nights filled with solving cases. She would never admit it but her job as a P.I. was so much easier with him by her side.  
It isn't intentional but he's staring at their joined hands resting on his knee. He can't help but marvel at that simple display, it takes his breath away sometimes if he's focused on it for too long.

He still remembers the night she called out to him from her bedroom. He of course slept in the Master suite just down the hall, done to his liking not her parents'. He figured it was enough to do the entirety of the house except this one space. After all he'd hoped to be sharing it with her one day.  
Her desperate shriek in the silence of the night still sends chills down his spine when he remembers. He rushed into her room, Hank just behind him, gun drawn as they both burst through the door. She was tangled up in her sheets, the nightgown he'd painstakingly selected for her drenched in sweat.  
"It's just a dream." He murmurs into her hair as he picks her up. He doesn't allow himself to hesitate even though her strength could break his arm like a twig. "It's just a dream, Jessica, you're safe."  
Her face is damp as he holds it between his hands. He's maneuvered them so he's sitting on her bed and she's in his lap. "They killed you." It's almost a sob and he doesn't have to ask who they are.  
"It was a dream, Jessie." He says and his heart aches. "You saved me remember?"  
She nods but another tear falls down her face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She chants it like a prayer over and over again. She grips his plain black T-shirt in her hands as she holds on to him.  
He can feel the material straining against even that bit of strength she's using. He shakes his head as he lifts her up and walks out of her room to his. Maybe being surrounded by something other than old memories will help these fade from her mind.  
He's lost in thought as he sets her down on the bed and heads for the door. "Please don't leave me." She begs and he knows he's never heard her so desperate in all the time he's known her. She hates begging; more than anything she'd hate begging him for anything.  
He stands in the doorway of his bedroom and watches her warily. He trusts her as much as she trusts him now. He still has Hank but there are no safeguards between them anymore, no hidden orders from him to ensure her good behavior. No staff going to off themselves because she's in a bad mood. Not since the night she'd come to his rescue.  
How they'd gotten past Hank's security team he'll never know. In a way, he's glad they did. Jessica would never be in his bed if it weren't for that. He's worked hard at burying the memory of his childhood, of the pain so blinding that he just wanted his life to end.  
His whole adult life had been dedicated to finding the human beings responsible for his creation, ironic that as he was hunting them; they were hunting him. They grabbed him much the way Jessica had tried, except with her in his care he had no people in place to rescue him this time as he'd gone unconscious from the drug. He'd been helpless and locked in a cage like some animal as they'd kept him sedated enough to be weak and unable to use his powers. That hadn't been the worst part; the worst had come in the form of more injections somehow so much worse than when he'd been ten.  
She'd found him by some miracle; in that cell, as weak as a child. He'd first thought she'd come to end it, his demented angel of death, and his savior as always. "Jessica Jones." He hated how his voice rasped out, hoarse from screaming. As she'd knelt down next to him he'd barely managed to get the words out before he passed out again. "I love you."  
It was a good thing he'd gone unconscious before he could hear her reply. He still hadn't asked what she'd done to the people who had captured him, he didn't think he cared. At least that's what he told himself as he watched her curl in on herself, huddled in his bed.

"Jessica," Her name is a plea, a prayer. "It's over now. I'm right here and so are you."  
She nods as if she doesn't quite believe him. "Try to get to sleep if you can. I'll be downstairs." He's used to selecting his words carefully now. Before he tried, he really did try but never gave it a second thought when the wrongly phrased sentence resulted in a command and not the result of a person's free will. He hadn't cared before and now he did. He makes himself as comfortable as he can on the brown couch and is amazed to find himself dozing off to sleep in no time at all.  
The next morning she comes down in an outfit that he bought her and put in her closet. It's not a dress, he learned that lesson the hard way, but the shirt is a shade of purple that gives him pleasure to see her in and the jeans fit her just right. He can't help but admire his handiwork as she takes her seat next to him. She glares but he can tell it's only halfhearted. She waits until breakfast is set down in front of them before she speaks.  
"Thank you." She says and he wonders how much it pains her to say those two words.  
He shakes his head. "I didn't do anything." He's embarrassed and doesn't for the life of him know why.  
She looks down at her plate and stares at her pancake, avoiding his questioning gaze. "No, I meant." She gestures wildly with both hands at everything around them. "Thank you, for all of this." She looks down at her clothes and grimaces. "Except next time, I'm picking the clothes."  
He can't help but laugh.

He's still staring at their hands on his knee when she tenses and pulls away from him. He's almost too scared to breathe, like he'll scare her off if he moves too fast. "I'm sorry." He whispers it. He can't remember if he's ever said those two words before, if he's ever wanted to say them more. "I couldn't stand the thought of-. " His anger and his insecurities start to bubble up; he can feel them like a virus. "I'm sorry." He says again.  
She's watching him with a mix of wariness and exhaustion in her eyes. "Do you remember the conversation we had that first night?" She asks, "With that first family we helped? You said you wanted to shift the scales. And you have. You're a goddamn hero." She huffs back into the couch, this time shifting so she's leaning against him.  
They sit like that in silence for a while, continuing to watch the news program that runs. It's become sort of a game for them. See how many times their acts of heroism get attention. Mostly she's making sure he never forgets that now his actions have a positive effect on people and not a negative one as before. Mainly he goes along with it to ensure that she knows she's making a difference, she's helping people because after all, that's all she ever wanted.  
He shifts his arm out from under her head and pulls her closer to him. He allows himself to relax as he tucks her head firmly into his chest, propping his head on top of hers. He's gotten used to holding her close; after all they've shared his bed ever since the night she woke up screaming his name. He's not tried to control her. She's not tried to kill him. They live like a normal couple. She's taught him to be a hero and he's taught her she's not alone. It's worked for them in their way.


End file.
